Saturday, August 31, 2013

(Mammoth Cave Recording) This delightful song cycle posits that Johnston is a mutant fusion of Atom and his Package and Stompin' Tom Connors, but per the latter, rather than expressing his throbbing Canadian patriotism by employing jingoistic sloganeering and didactic geography lessons Johnston instead complains about Tim Horton's hash browns, gas prices, and the livability of Windsor, Ontario. This album also presents some of the most effective message music I've heard in ages, the message being: don't let B. A. Johnston watch your cat while you're out of town!

Friday, August 30, 2013

(Rerun) First off, if one is weaned on hardcore punk, there is no better format than the 8 (or more) song 7" EP! So I'm already sold before I slap the needle on the grooves. Sure 7.5 minutes per side might sound a might murky, but if Paul C. has taught us anything over the last 100 years and 1000 songs it's that his near-jingle catchy, off kilter pop tunes don't need no steenking fidelity to soar. This diverse suite of songs features some impressively mature, sensitive, nuanced compositions...and some beautiful messes! And a song where he just rocks out to the refrain "All City seven years in a row!" which is somehow repeated 400 times in 75 seconds.Paul, give yourself some credit...you've been all world for at least 30 years!

Thursday, August 29, 2013

(Human Audio) Martin Savage's label explodes with not so much savagery as a methodical, slow rending of flesh by jagged wolf teeth. Jandek-spooky minimalist ghost garage as frightening as finding a growth.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

(Human Audio) Like most strawberries, and unlike most garage duos, this is tasteful. But dont let that put you off, trashmeisters, as this minimalist, raw pop platter feels like an ethereal campfire singalong and an art garage hoedown. That Jenny Silver's Swedish accented-English evokes a bit of Nico's German accented English don't hurt, nor does a cover of King Louie (New Orleans self-abusive one man band, not Chicago teen rapper).

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

(Team Austin) The twangs the thang on this natural, earnest, straightforward love letter to folksy, rural, honky tonkin' Americana that manages to somehow simultaneously coexist as a burlesque of the same music. This magic trick is pulled off, in part, by clever, thrilling songwriting, and clear-voiced, confident singing by both the dude and lady. Love it, indeed!

The jury –
to say nothing of the legal teams – appear to still be out on precisely how much of a bigger bang the Rolling Stones
made in marking their supposed fiftieth (!) year together. For example: Did the
long-thought-lost Mick Taylor truly succeed in again, albeit momentarily,
filling Brian Jones’ gigantic musical shoes during the band’s 012/013 concerts?
And speaking of quasi-reunions, how come the Stones invited back the best bass
player they’ll ever have and then only let him play for a song or two ??

Now,
seeing as the vast majority of their fan base these days prefer sitting in
front of flat screens as opposed to braving the crush at the local EnormoDome,
the band has kept the anniversial ball, well, rolling with some fabulous new
books and a slew of brand new/old DVD releases specially made for all
December's remaining children.

Two
such items contain some cream from the band’s considerable on-stage capers,
both on television, where the young Stones initially made their greatest
generation-dividing impact, and later down there in Texas at the, um, height of
one of their many, many one-last-comeback tours.

So, you
can choose from a package comprising four – or six if you spring for the Deluxe edition – complete (with
commercials even!) Stones-featured Ed Sullivan Shows remastered from those
once-Swinging Sixties. Then, on much
the opposite end of the musico-historical scale, view a long-rumored and
ultimately shelved (because, as director Lynn Lenau recalls, "they
thought they looked too old") semi-low-budget
16mm film of a typical show from their S.E.A.T. (as in "Seventy Eight
American Tour") supporting the just-released "back-to-basics" Some Girls long-player …which, buy the
way, can now be yours on DVD, Blu-ray and/or "Special Edition with CD
digipack presentation including a reproduction tour program" (included on
all configurations however, it should be noted, is the Stones' (in)famous 1978 SNL
appearance starring Dan Aykroyd as Tom Snyder).

On a
budget, and can only afford one of
the above items you say? Especially after plunking down £229 (plus postage + handling) for “Bill
Wyman’s Scrapbook” ?? Let us then compare The Ed Sullivan Shows Starring The Rolling
Stones and Some Girls Live In Texas
‘78 in order to help make up what’s left of your mind…

VENUE:

SULLIVAN: CBS
Television Studio 50, NY, NY and CBS Television City,

Los Angeles, California.

SOME GIRLS: Will
Rogers Auditorium, Fort Worth, Texas.

DATE:

SULLIVAN: Six Sunday
nights between October 25, 1964 and November 23, 1969.

OUR SPECTACULAR COMEDY & NOVELTY RECORDS ISSUE IS REAL AND ALIVE!!! We moved a bunch of copies Friday at our release party, and it will be in Chicago stores later this week and available online by Wednesday and subscribers and contributors should have copies by mid-September! Check our Facebook and Website for more info! All the reviews posted after this date will appear in the next issue (#52)

Friday, August 16, 2013

(Whitemysterband.com) It can’t be overstated how important WM are to the local
scene. With fine chops (Alex’ blues rock guitar wailing and Francis’ mighty drumming
blend together with the eerie harmony siblings usually reserve for when singing
together) and a knack for writing simple, smart, catchy, earnest garage rock
ditties, they are musically as good as anything we got here. But it’s the
personalities that put them over the top; onstage they just make you root for
them, these is the band at your school you want to play every dance! New
classics on this one include the infectious “Break A Sweat,” the chaotic
“Jungle Cat,” and the knock out “Dirty Hair.”

Saturday, August 10, 2013

(Off the Top Rope) My first thought watching this spectacular
documentary about the Memphis-centered pro wrestling scene in the 1960s and 1970s
is that maybe all that talk about athletes and concussions and brain damage is
less spot on than I thought, because Jerry Lawler, Jackie Fargo, Jimmy Valient,
and Sputnik Monroe took more blows to the head than anyone, and they are so
sharp now it’s ridiculous. My second thought involves rushes of memories of
watching regional, low-budget pre-WWF wrestling as a kid and how utterly
engaging and organic and spectacular it was despite lengthy 2 out of 3 falls matches
lack of muscle tone, and a production vibe that felt like one of those local
weathermen in a Dracula cape hosting monster movies shows. Or more
specifically, like the low budget car dealer ads starring wrestling personalities
that played during the Sunday morning broadcasts in Chicago. I recall one of my
eye-openers to adulthood as a kid being the day after a huge Nature Boy Buddy Rogers
match that had been hyped for weeks on All
Star Wrestling I checked the Tribune
and there were no results listed in the sports pages, despite this clearly
being one of the biggest sporting events in the nation. But as we learn in Memphis Heat, those results might have
been in the Memphis newspaper, because their wonderful broadcasts (we see
plenty of excerpts of not just wrestling but the intervews and shenanigans that
made their productions special) were some of the highest rated shows in the
region. They sold out the Colliseum more times then Elvis we are remnded, and
time after time this engaging film shows why not only the immensely talented,
incredibly intelligent Lawler earned his “King” title, but how all these
characters, from the bold Monroe (who refused to honor the city’s segregation
policies) to the intense Valient (who really scared me as a kid) are true
wrasslin’ royalty.

(Alive) Of Andre Williams’ dozen comeback albums he’s made over
the last two decades this is genuinely one of the best The swampy, slink ghost
blues rock thst Matthew Smith and Jim Diamond eke out (celebrating the Detroit
side of Andre, without erasing the Chicago side) perfectly matches his now
hoarse, mellow, haunting voice. Highlights include a heavy, gaspy take on the
closest thing he ever had to a hit (for someone else) “Shake A Tail Feather,” a
tasty toast about a naughty fly, and some Tom Paine-esque sature on an
anti-anti Obama song. But the highest highlight may be the snippets of candid audio
from the sessions in which Andre takes no shit and makes it clear that he’s
running the show, not some puppet masters. It reminded me of the surprisingly
in control Michael Jackson directing the dancers and musicians in This Is It. But with a happier ending.

Friday, August 9, 2013

(Light in the Attic) This handsome package remasters and reissues two early 70s solo
records that if people know them at all they know them because the cats
Whitlock backed up in the past (Clapton and George Harrison) returned some
favors. But these deserve to be more than asterisks on someone else’s
discography. The first album, self titled, sees the Memphisian at his best,
soul shouting over country rock (or, more accurately, country gospel rock).
Whitlock’s throaty robust vocals match the 70s studio bombast note for note,
when they don’t conquer and overpower it. The 2nd LP, “Raw Velvet,”
rocks harder (bringing some actual Southern Rock to the West Coast country rock
sound) with some off-roading into swamp rock. These boundry-blurring excursions
are a pretty perfect solution to the anomaly that is and always will be “white
boy soul,” and this addresses many of that concept’s inherent problems in ways
Justin and Thicke could still learn from.

(Light in the Attic) I could be wrong, but I don’t think
PIL’s debut was released in the US, or if it was, something went wrong with
distro, because I never saw a non-import copy, and I saw lotsa “Metal Box”s. Even
if it was, this version, with a bonus of their first single (a repro of the
sleeve and all) is certainly new to these shores, and well worth the wait.
Forget what came to be known as post-punk, this in many ways was thekey post-punk
release, as Mr. Punk Rock was done with punk, made clear with a musical
declaration that dubby, noisy, atmosheric, ambitious art rock was where it was
at. And though these forays into dance clubs and anti-religious poetry night at
the pub contain more pretension than a Silver Jubilee’s worth of Sex Pistols
singles, they also seem more thrilling and challenging. Their only “hit” off
the album (ahe band’s theme song…something I endorse wholeheartedly for all
bands) may be the most familiar thing here, but even that sounds fresh in the
context of this nice packaging. There’s also a lengthy archivsl interview, but I
can only take about five minutes of Johnny Lydon talking.

(Cleopatra) A solid set of songs by the Vibrators
with guest vibrations from new and old friends, many of which shine like a…glow
in the dark vibrator? Some guitar heroes deliver their signature sound, elevating
the always catchy Vinrator catalogue (listen to Ross the Boss, Walter Lure, and
old collaborator Chris Spedding), some are surprising (Wayne Kramer’s sound
going somewhere new), some are better than you’d expect (Vibrators + Die Toten
Hosen = awesome!?! Who knew?) and some are less than the sum of their parts (I
would have expected Dickies meet Vibrators to rule, but I guess Dickies are
naturally jealous of Vibrators when you thing about it). Definitely one of the
more interesting ways to present your greatest hits!

(Alternative Tentacles) Jello being Jello! This is as corny and obvious as the bulk of 60s protest music was, but in a lot ways it's just as important. And who can really fault a 7.5 minute epic that combines Dead Kennedy vocals, both country and KISS riffs, cheerleading Occupy-ers, FDR history lessons, and a laundry list of capitalist, corporate AmeriKKKa's woes and ills. Scathing indictments of Obama (and Oprah and Rodney King) may not have much bite if you consider the satiric re-spelling "BaRockstar O'Bomber" not particularly clever, but compared to other contemporary protest music...wait, there is none! So throw in D.O.A. and some Jello-isms, and I'm on board!

(Megaforce) Usually a covers EP is just filler, or
even a tired band’s surrender, but considering how awesome their last record
was, Anthrax not only gets a pass but a pat on the back for so superbly
compiling and packaging (recreations of classic covers by Boston, AC/DC, Thin
Lizzy, etc.) this tribute to their influences. I also like that this isn’t about
obscurities, it’s about playing the HITS, and since it’s one of the best hard
rock bands ever playing them, its like experiencing your fantasy cover band. I
love the fact that they are unashamed to love Journey’s “Keep On Running,” that
they glorify “Anthem” by Rush (why is that not on the Loop’s playlist?), and
that they make Chaep Trick’s “Big Eyes” bigger! . Like the Boston track they
cover, this is “Smokin’!”

(Hozac) Epicycle may not be the
most respected early Chicago New Wave act, but then again, who is? Phil N the Blanks?
Maybe Skafish at the time, but now? Ayhow, there are a few reasons this band
may be under-loved. First off, they didn’t break up! Which is awesome in many
ways, but fans of the poppy bar band from the 90s or 2010 may not dig their
edgier power pop of the Jane Byrne-era, and potential 70s-heads may have been
turned off by the slicker stuff they heard over the last thirty years. Also,
for punk fans they were kind of everything but – some garage, some pre-Paisley
Underground 60s revival, some radio pop – plus they actually had a song called “Hardcore
Punk” that is anything but – I can imagine
a Naked Raygun fan hearing this years later and getting pissed off. But
whatever the reaon is that this band set to table to allow for glorious
rediscovery, one thing that can’t be blamed is talent – the songwriting,
playing, and pop sensibilities on the 14 tracks featured here are stellar. I am
now hearing these songs in my head all the time…does that mean I’m Epipsychic?

(Hozac) Because bubblegum powerpop has some pretty specific formulas and
because if you are true of heart, in touch with your inner horny teen, have
some Kassenetzz-Katz 45s and Shoes LPs, and are willing to practive you can
achieve some fine skillz in this arena, I have to say I have heard a number of
genuinely impressive, borderline great proto-bubblegummers over the last few
years. But this is the first time I had to spend fifteen minutes on the
Internet confirming this was actually a contemporary band and not a reissue!
First base? I feel like I totally scored!

(Stow House) I’ve been thinking a lot about the recently
departed Peppi Marchello, lead singer of the Good Rats, and one of my favorite
stories involves him screaming in a towel as a teenager trying to make his
voice scratchy and raw so he could get the proper vocal tone for rock ‘n’ roll.
The singer for Cleveland rock garagers The It*Men either wore out his mother’s
towels or just genuinely lived through the tough stuff, all those sorry stories
scraping against his vocal cords. Considering what we know about Cleveland, I
bet it’s the latter. I call them ‘rock garage’ and not ‘garage rock’ because
these roughnecks are more Ac/DC than Sonics, more Motorhead than Mysterians.
But they ain’t slick rockers above the garage, they are budget rock roughnecks
singing about handjobs, drugs and whatever “the Bowie Dick Test” is. This is It*!

(Infinite Fog) Though English, this opens with a mystical horse-themed narration by a
woman with one of those sexy Bjork/Bardot/Badenov/not exactly sure where the
hell the woman is from accents, and though I am not the top advocate on 90s
dark psyche scapes with glimmers of rennasaince faire folk, that fifteen second
scene setter is worth the price of the album!

(Merlins Nose) I’ve never heard of the neo-folk/psyche label
Merlins Nose (from Germany) but the array of sounds they laid upon my ear
provided as trippy a trip as I’ve taken in (ye olde middle) ages. By far the
highlight are the 1971 recordings by duo Amber, who utilize tabla and sitar to
make their mellow psyche folk soar around the world. Somehow their calming
precious folk music actually grooves…this is to be heard. Elsewhere…If the
hypnotic weirdo drones and buzzes if Arrowwood were not created by
tree-dwelling wood faeries than I’ll be a wood nymph’s uncle! To call In Gowan
Ring “neo-folk,” or “phreak pholk” acknowledges the trancelike psychedelic
effect of this music, but disrespects how traditionally, beautifully,
meticulously this is actual folk
music, and B’ee is an ancient minstrel spreading stories across the briar! I
give B’ee an “A!” Jahrtal impressively creates ambient exotica that combines a
blissful opium haze around a virtual Martin Denny, virtually stationed in
Tokyo. And as far as the remaining group: Paths of PraCrappy!

(Munster)There
is supposed to be a dead space between the dreary, awful 80s recordings of the
Midnight Records-era garage revival and the trashier, tastier Estrus/Planet
Pimp/Ripoff 90s revival. But no one told Monoman. He never cut back or
compromised his own campy form of Cramps-ism/punked out archival revival garage
mess rock he’d nurtured in the 70s with DMZ. He delivered timeless rock when
everyone else was messing with instantly dated 80s effects. This late 80s material
manages to be raw, spare, rich sometimes sexy, sometimes spy rockin’, sometimes
Bowery punk messy --- the Lyres were telling the musical truth! And though
anything more than a dozen Lyres tracks may be overkill, some Live in Holland burners
(really working the crowd) ain’t no Ly!

(Munster) Don’t write off Czechs your ass can’t cash! That
error is proven by this pre-Beatlemania beat band that’s still rockin’ in some
form a half century later. Over the years they did strange 60s psyche, Tin Pan
Alley-tinged garage, space walk excursions, straight up beat jams, and one or
two wild and crazy wah wah freakouts from Czecholslavakia! They should have
called this album “Everything!” because in addition to what I mentioned, during
their ’65-’71 heyday they would also make poppy porn soundtrack cuts, drugged
out Beatles experiments, borderline Byrds country-tinged flytes, fuzzy proto
punk turbo skiffle…need I go on? It must be the kolaches…it’s hard to believe every country has a long-standing
band this badass!

(Ramo) Primo stuff –
trashy but not trashed garage rock (meaning more New Wavey than Rip Off
Records-ish) that captures a Ramones + organ tones Girls (& Boys) in the Garage groove. It’s a musical mini-skirt
malfunction! It’s tastier than ice cream! It’s cinch, the Pinsch will pull you
in like a winch!

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

(gorettiquartet.over-blog.com)
Dark mathematical garage jazz from Belgium that will not have you waffling –
you’ll eat it up with confectioner’s sugar! On their split with Sexy Rexy
(named for Bear’s QB Rex Grissman I assume?) both make beautiful noise, with
Gorgeous Grossman improvising some groovy greatness.